The broad east-west avenue accommodated three lanes of traffic, each direction keeping to the right, the center reserved for the government post and military. They took a turn to the left to pull the oxcart off into a small market pavilion to reverse direction, with much complaining from the oxen, who stamped and kicked up a cloud of dust. Passersby behind them cursed the inconvenience… they hoped they did not attract too much attention, or that a cavalry patrol did not trot by looking for them. They finally got the cart heading east, and a few minutes later a patrol did come by. Their hearts pounding, they tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, heads down in meditation as they droned their chants. The patrol didn’t notice them. Perhaps they were only looking for westbound suspects, as the road was quite crowded.
They kept up a brisk pace and quickly reached the bridge connecting to a much smaller road running northeast toward Weinan about fifteen miles away. At the first dense cover alongside the road, Ibrahim pulled into the brush, and got everyone out.
“Well, that’s it, that is as far as this plan will take us. Help me unload the cargo, we need a change of clothes,” he said, in Greek for clarity, Antonius translating for Marcus and Marcia.
The crew bore a hand offloading the squawking chickens and neighing goats, and Ibrahim jimmied up the false bottom. Back in the corner was a stack of conical straw peasant hats over neatly folded work clothes, long beige shirts, floppy black trousers, and some multicolored head scarves. Ibrahim looked at Demosthenes, one eyebrow raised. “You said you might have some difficulty taking off your robe and becoming a non-monk. If you don’t wish to do that, you can leave the party with our blessing.”
Demosthenes thought for just a few seconds, then said, “I am with you. I have compromised so many vows, I will be more honest to say I am a non-monk.”
“Good! We would have missed you otherwise!” Ibrahim distributed the clothing and the erstwhile monks stripped with no pretence at modesty, Marcia included. They donned the peasant garb, wrapped their bald heads with headscarves and then put on the wide conical hats, handing the robes to Ibrahim who folded them carefully and put them into the corner of the false bottom. With the false bottom back in place, they reloaded the animals, and Ibrahim took out two shoulder poles and buckets from open storage. “Fill the buckets with anything, dirt, rocks, I don’t care, but make it look like we are hard-working peasants.”
“Where are we going?” asked Gaius.
“Somewhere else, and quickly.” answered Ibrahim, curtly.
Relieved of the need to pray, and no longer caught in a mob of pedestrians, horses and carts trying to gain entrance to Chang’an, they actually made good time. They were on a broad flat flood plain, planted as far as the eye could see in waving fields of yellow wheat and millet, interspersed with lines of carefully tended trees and clustered villages of a few dozen homes. A foot patrol of soldiers marched past; the peasants kept their heads down to hide their faces. All the notice they got was a curt “Out of the way, peasant!” A most welcome insult. In a few hours they were able to backtrack fifteen miles to the outskirts of Weinan.
They skirted around the west side of the mud-walled township. Up until now, as monks and their peasant escorts, they had felt free to mingle with the population, purchase food and exchange pleasantries. They were now acutely conscious of the six shaved heads under the hats and headbands… the mark of a recently released prisoner, according to Marcus, and in the case of Marcia, probably a disgraced prostitute. And their western faces once again stood out.
By sunset, they had covered another five miles, and found a little tree-lined brook under a small bridge to shelter for the night. There seemed to be no houses for a mile or two, and the peasants still working in their fields were packing up their tools to head for home in the fading light.
They were situated on a sandy beach, the oxcart manhandled into cover and the oxen released of their burden. The animals clambered down to the clear, swiftly running water and drank eagerly, then looked for grazing.
“We need talk, han-yu, so all talk, all listen, no need cross-talk.” Ibrahim said in his clumsy and still-halting han-yu. “I sorry, I fail and plan break down. I no have alternative except run. Please all talk, ideas please!”
Gaius spoke up first. “You do good so far, all plans break down, we make do. Problem, we not able to say where from, who we are, where we go, what we do. Must come up with answers to that, until then stay away from people, move fast. Hide in mountains, wait for hair grow back.” At that, everyone laughed.
Antonius rubbed his own naked scalp through the head scarf. “Like big goose egg!”
Gaius continued. “No want to add trouble, but food big problem. How to buy now not monks. Just few days food in oxcart.”
They kicked around a few more ideas, nothing substantial. They identified more problems than solutions, but at least that was a start. They decided not to start a fire tonight, to avoid attention from late-night passersby, and ate a very light dinner, aware they might have to make rations stretch.
Later, Antonius took Marcia’s hand and whispered in Latin, “Come with me.” They each grabbed their blankets and went upriver a little way, till the conversation behind them died down.
There was a full moon casting black shadows on a silvery-gray landscape, with a million stars flung across the sky. The Milky Way hung in the sky like a frozen waterfall, tumbling from star to star. In the distance, a dog barked… very far away. Other than that, the only sounds were the babbling of the brook and a gentle sighing of the wind, cooling the warm night. They settled down about fifty yards away from the group, and sat down on a log by the water’s edge, Marcia’s toes trailing in the water.
“It is a beautiful night, Antonius. I like just holding your hand in the moonlight,” she said.
Antonius felt the firm softness of her thigh against his. “I liked makin’ love ter yer in the cell, but got to admit, this is more private, at least a little.”
She put her head on his shoulder and clasped his hand, playing with his big strong fingers. “Yes, but I never in my life made love with such enthusiasm, a few days from certain death, never mind that my brother and two other people were almost close enough to touch!” She laughed softly. “Te amo, Antonie, te amo. It is such a good feeling.”
“It’s new ter me, Marcia. It scares me and makes me happy, and makes me confused. Please, be patient with me while I learn how this works, domina.”
“I am learning, too. I never loved Ming, though a few months ago, I thought I might at least get to like him. You don’t mind if I talk about him?”
“He’s part of yer life, and hopefully part of yer past.”
“Let’s hope so. A few months ago, I helped him prepare to brief Emperor He – funny I can say his name now, did you know that would be a death sentence if anyone heard it?”
“Just one of many things they’d like to kill us for! Go on.”
“Right. It went well, and he thought it was my doing. But then it did not last. I was afraid I would have to spend my whole life with someone who despised me, that I despised. But with you…I have no words for the happiness I feel, like in the prison when there was no tomorrow for us, and I didn’t care.”
“Strange feeling for me, too. You know, I have never been friends with a woman, just someone for my needs, nothing more. You, I am afraid I could break you, like fine china in my clumsy hands!”
She laughed, a chuckling happy sound. “You have big gentle hands. For all your strength you are the most gentle man I have ever known. And don’t worry, after ten years with Ming, I don’t break as easily as you think.” She lifted up her head, put her other hand around his neck and kissed him gently on the mouth, a long lingering kiss.
They leaned back on the riverbank, and no, there was no need for celibacy, not tonight, not in the moonlight.
Up at first light, the group hitched up the team and struck across the farmland. In the distance they could see a low range of mountains to the north. Antoniu
s pointed them out to Ibrahim. “There I think mountains we seek, maybe a cave, not too many people,” he said in han-yu, almost without thinking.
By late afternoon, a few hours before sunset, they reached the town of Tongchuan, identified from signs Marcus and Marcia could read, and fragments of local conversations overheard in passing. Its name meant ‘Copper River’, situated at the mouth of a valley tumbling down between two ridges, eroded yellow rocks showing through where there were no trees. The town itself was medium sized, maybe ten thousand people. Big enough to provide at least a little anonymity. They passed a small market with vegetables, ducks and chickens hanging from displays in the window, the sweet smell of green vegetables, flour and fresh-baked bread. Their stomachs grumbled, but they kept walking.
After about fifteen minutes, Demosthenes came alongside Ibrahim, perched on the driver’s bench of the cart. “Pull up a minute, I have an idea,’ he said, in Greek.
“Whoa, Castor, whoa, Pollux!” Of course, after a month, the oxen had names. “What is it?” said Ibrahim.
“We are just about to start up this mountain, and I thought about what we said yesterday, not able to say who we are, where we came from, and what we are doing here. You all may not, but I can, well enough to go back to that market and buy some food.”
“So who are you?”
Demetrios doffed his hat and removed his headband. “I, sir, am a Buddhist, going into the mountains to meditate if am to be a Bhukkhin monk. I can say where I am from, and where I am going. So give me a pack and the shoulder pole, I am going to get us some food... oh, and some money, too, a handful of bronze coins should do fine.”
“Give it a try.”
Demosthenes walked back to the market shop, hoping it was still open. It was, and he entered the dark interior. A matronly woman greeted him “Good day, good day,” she said, smiling and bowing. “Come in, please!”
“Yes, I am going up to the mountain to meditate, maybe for several months. I need some food and supplies.”
“Meditate? You are Buddhist, your head is shaved, are you a monk?”
“No, not now, not yet.” Not a lie there.
“My son was going to become Buddhist, he and his friend.”
“What happened?”
Her face clouded over briefly. “He died. He was killed in the Battle of Ilkh Bayan up north, against the Xiongnu.” Then her smile returned. “That was a long time ago, but his friend Guo Chen did become a Buddhist. They were in Dou Xian’s army together during the Xiongnu war. Chen went to Luoyang afterward and became a monk there.”
“Guo Chen? Really? I knew him! He was my mentor at the White Horse Temple in Luoyang, he taught me han-yu! He was a very respected scholar… I offer consolation for the loss of your son.”
“How old are you, if I may ask?”
“Thirty.”
“My son was about your age. If you see Guo Chen, please send him my love and tell him to write me, I miss him still.”
“I will.”
Imagine fate, of all the people who could run into, someone with an acquaintance in common hundreds of miles away. Demosthenes had learned much from Guo Chen, in reading and interpreting scriptures, and in coming to understand all the principles of Buddhism.
“So here, let me fill your pack, you’ll need flour and vegetables. Meat?”
“Uh, yes, a little, I am finding that part of my calling difficult, I still like meat on occasion”
“My son and his friend had a hard time with that, too, they were always trying to sneak some chicken or pork.” The matronly woman chuckled, as she stuffed a goose into the pack. “You need some small pots, some fire materials, always need a little string, here, and I have a blanket. Now let’s put several bags of flour and meal in your shoulder-buckets.” She handed him a fresh roll. “Eat this on the way, you look hungry. Oh, and here is an axe, you’ll need that.”
“Thanks, but I don’t have much money…”
“You don’t need any money, you are a friend of my dead son’s lifelong friend. My name is Xian Biyu, and you need anything else, just come down from the mountain and ask. I’ll get it for you.”
“The blessing of the Buddha be upon you! You are too kind! My name is Dim, and I will pray for you and your son.” Dim was his Hanaean name, common enough, and easier for Hanaean tongues than Demosthenes. He struggled to get the bulging pack on his shoulders and balance the heavy shoulder pole across his back. “I must get up the mountain before it gets dark.”
“Dim, there is an abandoned house up that road about five miles into the mountain on the left. Hunters use it sometimes, but otherwise it is abandoned. You can stay there, and if anyone gives you trouble tell them Mama Biyu said it was alright.”
It took a while for the heavily-laden Demosthenes to lurch back down the road to the waiting oxcart and company.
“You do good!” said Ibrahim.
“I got adopted, I think,” said Demetrios.
The abandoned house was good news, and they set out up the hill, though they had to use torches in the gathering dark to light their way. As the road wound up the hill, it rapidly became much less a road, heavily etched with little runoff gulleys that snared and bound the wheels, and rocks that threatened to break them. After a while, it was necessary for the drivers to dismount and lead the reluctant oxen up the hill, their eyes wide and rolling, their voices bawling in complaint. All too often, everyone had to lean against the side of the cart to keep it from turning over.
But after about two hours of laborious ascent, someone caught sight of a reflection from the house, although set far back in the woods… had it not been for that faint gleam, they would have struggled right by it in the dark. A little path, mercifully smooth, led up to the veranda.
They were expecting a little hut.
This was no hut. Whoever built it had money and liked his privacy. It was rather the worse for not having been inhabited for a long time, but most of the deterioration was in the trim. Wide steps, warped and cracked but still sturdy, led up to the porch framed by thick wooden columns that a long time ago had been bright red. The columns propped up a porch roof that showed no signs of sagging. Peering through empty windows that gaped open on unslung hinges, they noted that the interior seemed spacious, and went in through the door.
Perhaps left by hunters, there were some amenities, an oil lamp on a rickety low table and a bottle of oil. They doused their torches, fearful of setting the place on fire, lit the lamp and let its light guide them through their accommodations. Along the back wall was a fireplace with an attached oven, separated from the living room by a big island for food preparation that had once been lacquered. Candles lined the wall in sconces. Four separate bedrooms debouched off the living area, and one even had a bed. “Looks like we found Antonius’ and Marcia’s quarters,” joked Marcus; Marcia’s blush was invisible in the darkness, but she smiled.
Behind the house, a little waterfall cascaded into a small pond, probably a fishpond in its day. Antonius picked up a handful of water, sniffed it, then carefully tasted it. “Seems clean enough.”
Also behind was a small cave, a barn for animals. Going inside, they found the remains of pens, with tools, ropes and harnesses hanging, moldering on the wall.
“Looks like someone just walked off and left it,” said Antonius.
“Looks that way. I guess there is a story here, but we are not likely to know,” said Gaius. “There are no fields up here, no sign of business, maybe he came up here to harvest things out of the forest and went down? Or maybe he had some business or farm in Tongchuan, and just came up here for a retreat. That’s what this looks like. He must have been successful at whatever he did, because this was a nice house in its day.”
They wrestled the oxcart and oxen into the pen, leaving them hobbled to graze and seek water from the pond. They then retired early, after a long day. Antonius estimated they had covered thirty miles today, a forced march by Roman army standards. They had covered over two hundred miles from Lu
oyang, and would be needing new shoes very soon.
Marcia and Antonius retired to their private quarters, nude in their luxurious if fleabitten bed, but too tired for anything but kisses, cuddles and sleep.
The morning sun awoke Marcia. It seemed no one else was up yet, and she explored Antonius’ body till she got the expected reaction. He threw back the musty blankets and they took in the beauty of each other’s body… they had never had the privacy to share their nakedness together. Antonius marveled at her small, firm breasts, hard firm nipples like raisins in the cool morning. He slid his hands down her flanks and grasped her buttocks, rockhard from weeks of hard walking. He held her against him, and she was intensely aware of the heat of his manhood against her belly. He then released her to continue to explore her body with his eyes. “Yer so beautiful, domina, so beautiful!”
“Yer not so bad yerself, soldier. I am ugly though, without my hair.” Antonius playfully ran his hand over her head, bristly with black fuzz trying to grow back.
“I’m naked as a goose egg up there, too,” said Antonius, looking into her bright, blue almond-shaped eyes, inside their slight epicanthal folds. She was beaming with happiness.
She took in the sight of his body, broad across the shoulders as befits a swordsman, with bulging biceps and pectoral muscles, all covered with twisty, curly black hair. That hair converged to race down his centerline through his belly button, to explode around his nether regions. His hips seemed impossibly narrow for the rest of him, set on massive thighs and columnar legs.
She playfully twisted the curly hair on his chest, then kissed one nipple, then the other, their bodies intertwined, and then they were one, coursing to the sun and back in long, luxuriant lovemaking. When they were done, they lay spent in each other’s arms.
“I don’t know why we never tried a bed before, amatus meus,” she purred, her tongue exploring the inside of his ear.
“Maybe because we didn’t have one?” He turned and kissed her long, then they were taken with a second, more urgent passion.
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